


to be half of what you think of me

by vulpineRaconteur



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulpineRaconteur/pseuds/vulpineRaconteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from an unusual love story, and one thread that runs through them.</p><p>---</p><p>I was given a small, silly prompt by a friend, and against my will turned it into these goobs falling in love.  So here's how it happened, in my canon, in my own words (and more than a few of BioWare's).</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be half of what you think of me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tinystork](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinystork/gifts).



> A note on the rating: There is one very brief sex scene near the end. Very little is described, but it's there. It happens. Watch out.

_If I could begin to be_  
_half of what you think of me_  
_I could do about anything_  
_I could even learn how to love._

"Love Like You", Rebecca Sugar

 

~∴~

 

It started in the Hanged Man. They were all there one night, as usual, drinking and carousing and mostly staying out of trouble. Fenris was several swigs into his bottle of wine when Hawke, ever the lightweight, came up behind him and draped himself languidly over Fenris' body. Fenris tensed, embarrassed. Three years had been plenty of time to realize that Hawke had feelings for him. Three years had not been enough time to decide what to do about it.

At the moment, it felt good, having Hawke's soft weight on his back, the heady smell of him filling Fenris' space. But the comfort passed, and he started to squirm. "Off, Hawke," he said.

"Fenrisss," Garrett responded, "Fennnnnnrissssss, you are so good, Fenris, have I told you that before?"

" _Yes,_ " Fenris said, "are you going to get off?"

"Workin' on it," Garrett said. His head listed to the right, gravity taking hold. "First I have to rest my head a bit. Hang on." Garrett's head slumped down to Fenris' shoulder, right onto the spikes of Fenris' pauldron.

"Maker's balls!" Garrett shouted, reeling back. The rest of the table laughed. "Fenris, why are you so sharp? Why do you wear your armor _all the time?_ "

The real answer, the worry that Danarius or his men could fall on him from the rafters at any moment, did not seem like the thing to say. That would really kill the mood.

And yet it happened, just a few days later, only they were on their way to the Wounded Coast. They learned Hadriana's location, the blood pounding in Fenris' ears, and he demanded of Hawke that they pursue her. He said yes, of course, of course they would, of course he would agree, and below the rage Fenris felt calm blossom in his gut at that act of friendship.

But it didn't last. The dead they found in the holding caves forced every kind or comforted thought from his mind, leaving only the fury Hadriana deserved. And when he killed her, he felt base, felt like he was nothing more than what they had made him, expected Hawke, good and kind and gentle, to take issue with what he did. But he didn’t. All he did was show concern, and Fenris lashed out at him. The guarded hurt in Garrett's face plagued his thoughts as he rushed from the caves, back to the city, to his decrepit house.

That rage, that violence, it still thrummed in him, and he shouted and smashed a fine but dusty Tevinter chair against the wall, over and over until it was two pieces of wood in his hands. But it wasn't enough. There was plenty of junk to smash in this house, and whenever he felt like tearing off his skin, smashing usually helped a great deal. Tonight, it made no difference. He cursed Danarius, and Hadriana, and the Imperium and magic and, by the Maker, himself, his own wretched body, the constant ache of his markings, the sharp points he covered himself with, sharpness on his hands, his arms, his shoulders, not to defend or protect but to deter. He slammed the front door behind him as he left the mansion.

It was such a short walk to Hawke's home, he barely had time to decide what to say. But Hawke wasn't there, of course, he would take longer getting back, making sure the others got to their own homes safely. Despite himself, Fenris smirked. Typical. Fenris sat on a bench in Hawke's foyer and closed his eyes, willing the tremors to slow, his heart to cool.

Hawke filled his mind's eye, chasing away the images of past horrors, always just at the edge of his thoughts. Catching Hawke staring at him. Hawke blushing at a kind word from him. Hawke flush-faced and panting after a fight. Hawke looking stunned and hurt after Fenris' outburst in the caves. His cheeks burned with shame. He came to apologize. That must be what drove him to Hawke's door in his state of agitation. It couldn’t be because he wanted— He couldn’t. He was dangerous, he was not whole. How could he ask someone to—

The front door opened, and Hawke entered the room armor and blades in hand. Fenris rolled to his feet, the anxious feeling returned. Instinctively he looked at the ground as he spoke to Hawke. "About what happened today," he said. "I took out my anger on you, undeservedly so. I was...not myself. I'm sorry." He looked up to see worry and relief in equal measure on Hawke's face.

"I had no idea where you went," he said. Hawke’s hands twitched forward, like he had to stop them from touching Fenris. Hawke, always ready to touch, to remind you that he was here, that you were here. "I was concerned."

"I needed to be alone," Fenris said, and glanced away again. He took a deep breath. He told Hawke all about Hadriana, how she had made him suffer. His back was to Hawke now, but he could feel those hands, fighting to stay still, fighting their urge to soothe comfort into his skin.

Fenris looked at his own hands, which only hours ago had broken his promise of safety to Hadriana. How could he use them for softness, for kindness, when they had been reformed only to hurt? "The thought of her slipping out of my grasp now..." He faced Hawke again, dragged his eyes to his face. "I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"What do you mean?" Hawke asked.

Fenris' mouth pinched into a scowl. "This hate," he said. "I thought I'd gotten away from it. I thought I'd become a better man." Unspoken were the words _because of you_. "But it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again, to know it was they who planted it inside me...." He felt a tremor starting in his limbs and willed them to still. "It was too much to bear."

Hawke was like a taut spring, ready to burst, to heal Fenris' pain. Fenris found that he wanted that, that he wanted Hawke close. But to think of it, to progress these feelings to their end—

"I didn't come here to burden you further," Fenris said in a rush, and stepped toward the door.

Hawke sprung after him. "You don’t need to leave—" he said, grabbing Fenris by the arm. Furious, Fenris turned and grabbed him back, pushed him against the wall, his markings glowing. In a moment he saw himself reaching through Hawke’s flesh to tear him apart. He fought for calm, for his power to recede, lost his fear of Hawke's touch, leaving only that desire he didn't know what to do with.

So he gave in.

Hours later, naked and tired in Garrett’s bed, Fenris stared up at the canopy. His limbs were slack, and he felt an unfamiliar contentment. Garrett rolled toward him and flung an arm across Fenris’ chest. "Good one," Garrett mumbled. He was fast falling asleep. Fenris smirked.

"Such high praise," he said, and Garrett laughed.

Garrett pulled himself so his front was flush with Fenris’ side and dug his face into his shoulder. _Of course_ , Fenris thought, _he’s a cuddler_. "Mm," Garrett said, "you're so much easier to kiss when you're undressed. Much less spiky. See?" And he kissed Fenris on the same shoulder that had injured him in the Hanged Man before. Before Fenris could think of what to say, Garrett was asleep, and Fenris soon followed.

It was in that sleep that the memories all came back, years of flashes and thoughts, enough to tantalize but too little to inform. He woke with his heart pounding, the relieved tension back in his body. He slipped out from under Hawke's arm and dressed in a hurry. Stupid, so stupid, why did he think that—

"Was it that bad?" Garrett asked from behind him, and he jumped and turned around.

He could see from Garrett's face it was a joke, but he still felt the need to stammer out "I'm sorry, it's not...it was fine." Garrett raised an eyebrow. "No, that is insufficient, it was...." He thought back to before, to Hawke's eager hands, the ache in his skin not gone, but transformed into something like pleasure. Joy bubbled up in his stomach, and just this one time, he allowed it to escape as a smile on his face. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

Garrett turned red and giggled into his hand. He looked away and his smile dropped. "Was it too strange," he asked, "to be with another man?"

Fenris' ears twitched, and for a moment he chewed his lips in lieu of speaking. "You'd ask me that," he finally said, "even though I'm..." and he swept his hand down his body. "In any case, no, it...it's not that."

Fenris explained about the rush of memories returning, about seeing it all for a moment, and then losing it all again. What about sleeping with Hawke had brought it back? The intimacy? The too-much feeling of being touched all over? Or the calm and peace, the contentment? He felt his blood racing, and had to stop himself bounding for the door. "It's too much," he said, "this is too fast, I cannot...do this." He gestured between Hawke, himself, the bed.

"Oh." Hawke looked down at the bed, and Fenris' heart ached. "Did you think this was just...a one-time thing?"

"No," Fenris said, knowing it wouldn't make anything better. "No, I didn't."

Hawke picked at the coverlet, then smirked half-heartedly and reclined on the bed. "But if it brings your memories back, maybe we need to do it more often?" The expression on his face was strained, a meager attempt at seductiveness, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Perhaps you don’t realize how upsetting this is," Fenris said, softly, without the malice he would have deserved. He looked at his hands, which, an hour ago, had found so many things to do other than hurt. "I’ve never remembered anything, and to have it all come back in a rush, only to lose it…" He turned away from Hawke, eyes losing focus in the fireplace. "I can’t…I can’t." He looked back to the bed, found Hawke laying back, uncharacteristically languid.

"Alright," Hawke said, eyes not leaving Fenris’ face. "If this is what you have to do, then…" Hawke sprang back to sitting on the edge of the bed. "But I care about you, Fenris. A lot. A lot a lot. And…this doesn’t change that." Fenris felt his heart swell, and his vision blurred. "I understand why you won’t stay, but don’t forget that I’m here for you. Always. For anything, under any condition. Please," and Hawke’s voice broke, "don’t forget, alright?"

Fenris didn’t trust his voice, so he nodded, shook his head. "I’m sorry," he managed, "I feel like such a fool. I didn’t want all this." His fucking past, never leaving him be. "All I wanted was to be happy, just for a little while. Forgive me." And he left, before Hawke had the chance to kiss that hurt from him, too.

And then—

Only a few weeks later, after relearning how to be around each other, after everything about how he saw Hawke changed, Fenris was in that bedroom again, under the worst possible circumstances. Leandra had been over-bearing, and judgmental, and never seemed to have time for anyone her son brought home, but Fenris knew she had loved her children, and had done her best for them…. He didn’t know what he could say or do, but he was drawn to the mansion nonetheless.

When he entered the room, Garrett was half-dressed, like he’d gotten his trousers and robe on before he’d had to sit back down on the edge of the bed and sob into a pillow. His face was wet when he looked up and saw Fenris come in. Fenris was rooted to the spot by the sight. What fucking use was he going to be?

"I don’t know what to say," he managed, "but…I am here." He cautiously approached the bed, sat down on it beside his friend.

"You don’t need to say anything," Garrett said hoarsely. "Thank you for…being here."

Fenris felt Garrett start to lean sideways onto his shoulder, then predict the sharp points of his armor and jump back up. Wordlessly, Fenris lifted his arm and undid the pauldron. After tossing it on the floor, he looked at Garrett and gestured at his shoulder, the smallest smile coming onto his face.

Garrett fell over, resting his face on the worn-soft leather, and he dug his forehead into Fenris’ bones. They were quiet for a long time, before Fenris said "I’m sorry. I don’t…know what else to do."

"This is enough," Garrett said, automatically. "This is enough."

"Then I’m glad I can do…this."

And then—

And then…

He’d put so much hope into Varania. Against his better judgment, he’d idly imagined where they might go, what they might do, if he managed to track her down. But now she was gone again, leaving wreckage behind her. He’d been so wrong.

He was sitting by the fireplace in his dilapidated house when Hawke came in. He never knocked on the front door, because it wasn’t as though Fenris would be able to hear it from the other side of the building. But even after all this time, he knocked on the door frame of whatever room he found Fenris in. Asking permission.

"Have a seat, Hawke," he said, and Garrett sat on the bench across from him. He wasn’t so wound up all the time as he had been years before. Kirkwall had found a way to exhaust even him, it seemed. But he still always had a smile or some other kindness for Fenris.

"Do you mind if I keep you company?" he asked, and Fenris found he wanted nothing more.

Fenris had said he was alone, and Hawke had said— It had taken more than a moment for that to sink in. He’d been so focused on reclaiming his past, making a new life from the remains of that, he had hardly thought about the life he was living now. And when he thought about making a future from it, if he was being honest, there was only one person he would ask to make it with him.

"We have never discussed what happened between us three years ago," he said, and Garrett’s eyes lit up.

"You didn’t want to talk about it, if I recall."

Fenris leaned forward, elbows on knees, and looked at his hands. "I felt like a fool. I thought it better if you hated me—I deserved no less."

"Fenris—" Garrett started, but Fenris held up a palm. _Not yet, Hawke_.

"I had been aware of your feelings for me for a while before then, and I’ll admit I—" He looked at Garrett and met his eyes, held them. "I admit I felt something for you too, even before that night. But I didn’t want to inflict myself on you. Maybe if you hated me, you could move on, find someone who could love you the way you deserve to be loved."

"Fe—" Fenris held up his palm again.

"But, as far as I can see, you didn’t move on."

"No," Garrett said quietly. "I never stopped."

Fenris felt a glow start in his stomach and radiate up his body. "Good." He stood up and approached Garrett, who looked like he was holding his breath. "I haven't stopped thinking about that night. I remember your touch as if it were yesterday. I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. I hope you can forgive me now."

"There’s nothing to forgive," Garrett said softly, and held his hands in his lap, palms up. "I was pushy, I'm always so pushy. I should have waited until you were ready."

Fenris laughed lightly as he said "You weren’t pushy. By my estimation, you waited quite some time. And I was the one who initiated that encounter, after all."

"Maker, you were, weren't you?" Garrett said. "But you knew how I felt, and I wondered if, maybe, you only did it because you felt pressured to."

"Garrett," Fenris said, and Hawke's eyes lit up at his name. "You've never been anything but kind and supportive. I can't even begin to tell you what a difference your friendship has made." Fenris frowned. "I was a coward to leave you like that. You deserve better."

"I don’t blame you for it, Fenris. You did what you had to, and I’ve never thought less of you for it."

Fenris smiled at him. "How is it I’ve known you almost six years, and I’m still surprised by what a good man you are?" Hawke blushed and demurred. "If I could go back to that night, I would stay. Tell you how I felt."

"What would you have said?" Garrett’s hands were still open in his lap, and Fenris took one in one of his.

"Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you."

"Fenris—" The word was breathy, a barely-there sound that quickened Fenris’ already pumping heart. He leaned close to Hawke, and said the truest thing he knew.

"Garrett, if there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

And his other hand was on Garrett’s face and he was kissing him and his eyes were sparking and his fingertips tingled and all throughout he was warm.

Later, in his own bed, Garrett’s head was on his arm, and they were smiling, unbelievably, they were smiling. Garrett groaned as he turned himself over on his stomach and looked up at Fenris. "This is forever, right?"

Fenris laughed, and found some small amount of false threat to put into his words. "It had better be."

Garrett hummed, and pulled himself up the bed, until his face was next to Fenris’. "Then I get to do this forever." And he leaned down and planted a kiss on Fenris’ right shoulder. "Because I get to see it when it’s not spiky, forever."

Fenris sighed, annoyed, and happy to be. "Then kiss my not-spiky shoulder all you like."

He would come to regret this.

Because Garrett Hawke wanted to touch him anywhere, all the time, but the low thrum of the lyrium under Fenris' skin was only bearable until it was touched too much. It was something they had to learn, to adjust to. But there was one spot, one perfectly kiss-shaped spot on his shoulder with no lyrium, that Garrett could always take advantage of. It was cute at first, the way he would use it to greet Fenris, to thank Fenris, to say good night to Fenris. It got old.

"Never again, love?" Garrett asked him over breakfast-in-bed one morning.

"Not never," Fenris said, spreading jam on toast. "But…" He let his head drop back and looked at Garrett. "You do it _so much_."

"Because I love you so much." Garrett looked up in time to see Fenris fighting a goofy grin. He smiled back. "But if that's what you want, then of course I'll do it." He leaned over to invite Fenris for a kiss, but feinted, and kissed his shoulder instead. "That was the last one for today, I promise."

So it became a _thing_ , Garrett trying to trick Fenris or sneak up on Fenris, but more often then not all he kissed was air. There were some notable successes: in the Hightown Market, outside the Hanged Man, chasing down a street gang once.

And, Maker, there was the time when they were awake in bed late one night, Garrett between his legs. Sometimes, the pain of touching the markings was good, and in the right context, the strange electric pain became background to pleasure. But some nights, after touching for so long, Fenris would lay back, and Garrett would get creative. Mouth, fingers, positions with distance: Garrett got good at pleasing Fenris with minimal touching. On that one night, Fenris on his back, relaxed, content; Garrett kneeling, inside him, moving careful and slow.

"Still sensitive, love?" Garrett asked.

Between hitched breaths, Fenris said "A bit—getting—better."

"That’s good," Garrett breathed, and leaned down over him, curving his spine to bring his face to—Fenris’ fucking shoulder.

"Got you," Garrett said, and Fenris didn’t care if his crotch would regret it tomorrow, he twisted around until he could land a solid kick to Garrett’s cheating head.

But then, just once, that one time after killing the high dragon at the Bone Pit, Fenris was exhausted. They'd used all of their potions in the fight, so there was no pick-me-up. Garrett, ever gallant, offered to carry him back to Kirkwall on his back. Fenris was a little giddy from the blood loss, so he agreed and climbed on.

As they walked the trail back to town, Varric and Merrill chatting amiably behind them, Fenris realized part of Garrett’s armor has been damaged in the fight, leaving a section of his right shoulder exposed.

"Garrett," Fenris said.

"Yes?" Garrett turned to look at him best he could.

And Fenris casually lowered his head and kissed that exposed spot of shoulder.

"NO!" Garrett shouted, absolutely jubilant. "YOU DID NOT! YOU FUCKING DID NOT JUST DO THAT!"

"What's happened?" Merrill asked. "What did we miss?"

"THIS SNEAKY ASSHOLE," and that was when Fenris started to laugh, "this TREMENDOUS BASTARD, just beat me at my own FUCKING GAME!" Garrett ran up and down the path shouting "UNBELIEVABLE!" and "YOU CHEEKY FUCKER!" until he was out of breath, well ahead of Merrill and Varric.

Varric sighed. "Daisy, if those two ever start making sense to you, I'd appreciate you letting me in on it."

Merrill was beaming at them, her friends, who were happy and free. "They’re in love, Varric. It's never going to make sense to us. We’re just lucky enough to see them having at it….

"Oh!" She giggled. "That was a bit dirty, wasn’t it?"


End file.
